City Lights
by Sera dy Relandrant
Summary: "Gone With the Wind" set in the twenty first century, in a series of drabbles, drabblets, word pictures and one shots.
1. Minimalist White

Provocatively demure. Like a Victorian lady's bare ankle flashed for a second, under frothing lace and frou-frou, over cobblestones and carriage wheels. A tantalizingly innocuous striptease. A masterful sleight-of-hand for a sixteen-year-old girl.

Virginal, knee-grazing skirt. Schoolgirl-collared linen blouse. White. Dark hair framing a pale face. Impish green eyes, butterfly lashes never still. An unchaste smile playing over glossy red lips. Not a country-club-brunch smile in any case.

"Quite the beauty. She knows it too."

"Robillard blood..."

Proud as Lucifer. He _knew _the Robillards. "I don't think she gets her good looks, or much else, from the Robillards. Irish, all the way down - just like Gerry O'Hara."

"Irish? Oh no, Rhett, I'd say French - her mother..."

"Frank, when will you learn to look beyond a veneer?" _Possibly never. It's what makes you such a poor businessman. _

"Oh well..." A forced laugh. Too hearty. Lovesmitten eyes. "Everyone's entitled to their own opinion." Cliches. Masks.

**A/N: The chapters are named after the wall paint colours at icidulux (a website). They're the colors of the dress Scarlett is wearing in each chapter.**


	2. Sweet Leaf

The puck sails into the scenic lake.

"...And every scallywag with a million to his name be playing it..."

"Pa."

"...Golf, bah!"

"_Pa_."

"Polo, now there's a kingly sport..."

"Pa!"

"Puss?"

"There's been rumors flying about a Hamilton-Wilkes merger..."

She is as picturesque as the country club whose membership has cost him millions, as picturesque as the Robillard bride he pretends he didn't need to _buy_. His puss, his little girl. Flailing her baby fists imperiously, not for rocking chairs or diamond rings, but for something money can't buy.

"Best not worry your pretty head over rumors, puss."

"But I-"

He waves her off like an insubordinate... subordinate. Looks away crossly - he can only flail where his daughters' lovelives are concerned. Most unacceptable. Steel tycoons do not _flail_.

"So, there was I thinking, what would your mother like for a birthday present? A pretty little Pacific island perhaps, just like James Tarleton got Beatrice, perhaps..."

**000**

"Had fun ministering to the sexual frustrations of the physically handicapped at the Charity Supper?"

Mother and Sue had been at some kind of social which involved freaks in wheelchairs, the media and Manhattan socialites and (in Sue's case) a Luca-Luca microdress flaunting clumps of adipose. Yeah, she had spent most of Sue's freshman year pretending their shared last name was pure coincidence.

"Caught up with Melanie Hamilton there. She looked pretty."

Sue's eyes were as green as Scarlett's. They gleamed the same way too. "They're moving to New York."

Pageflip. "And I care because...?"

Shrug. "She looked _really _pretty."

Snort. "Lighting."

Smirk. "Maybe."

**000**

Thirteen-year-old Carreen lounging by the pool in a (borrowed) string bikini, bubbling into 'cute' (gauche, middleschool) giggles when Brent said something about the weather.

...Like real women _needed _transparent swimsuits to win a man.

Carreen, skinny and pasty (fragile and pale, Mother consoled), like the pale, pathetic, wannabe ghost of a child pornstar. At thirteen, she, Scarlett, had sizzled and scorched. She'd given Raif Calvert, senior heartthrob, a blowjob.

"Brent, baby, it's been too long," she cooed and wrapped her arms (and lips and legs) around him. If there'd been a coke machine nearby, to lean on, they'd have been fucking in seconds.

Part of it was sheer cankaterousness after a bad day, part habit, but part of it was sheer pleasure at the look on her baby sister's face.


	3. Heartbeat

"Let me get this straight. You, _the _Scarlett O'Hara want boring old me to drive you to The Point." Ashley's voice, martini-dry.

"This isn't a date, douchebag. You're like, the only guy who's never tried hooking up with me." _Wish you did._ "Don't tell me you have a date with Rosie Palms."

"Nietzsche."

"I really need your help, Ash." Quavering voice. Damsel-in-distress playing up to knight-in-shining-armor. Neverfail. "It's about... Stuart."

"Don't spend an hour on your mascara." Thank God for the Wilkes chivalry.

"_Baby_-"

"Half-an-hour, Scarlett."

**000**

A lace sheath, worn over a red silk slip. Hair in severe, schoolgirl braids.

Juxtapose sexy and schoolgirl and you always wound up with classy, not trashy.

"_Ma belle petite-fille_. Come give your Grandmere a kiss. _Charmante. _You were always the most beautiful... and where are we off to today?"

"Driving with Ashley, Grandmere."

"Wilkes." _Mayflower ancestors. Ducal lineage. _She inclines her head in approval.

**000**

When they were kids, they'd all hike up to 'The Point' while their fathers were on the golf course talking billions and their mothers on the fashion circuit talking charity. The O'Haras, the Tarletons, the Wilkes, the Calverts, the Fontanes... their summerhouses were all nearby. Their private lala land of lemonades and lollipops.

Now they were older, they drove up to 'The Point' in their Porsches and surveyed the panorama from behind diamond-studded Aviators.

He sprawled out on a boulder, letting the last rays of late-summer sunshine splash on his face, and gild his fair hair to a richer gold. _I've been reading too much Mills & Boon. _She'd be happy just to prop herself at his feet, her head in his lap perhaps, and let the drowsy murmur of his voice wash over her as he talked about the stupid things he loved... Taoist philosophy and Rosenhan's experiment...

But no, he _had _to come to the point. Even with a babe in silk-and-lace at his feet.

"You said you wanted to talk about Stuart."

"Mmm? Yeah, I guess..."

"So talk."

"Meanie."

He spoke slowly, as to a toddler on a sugar-high. "Scarlett." Wide-spaced syllables.

"He's been pestering me to go out with him ever since I broke up with Dallas."

"Odd seeing you single for so long. Gives guys ideas. You haven't been single for three months at a stretch since you were... ten."

"Maybe I'm waiting for the right man to scoop me up." Dewy-eyes-of-dawn.

"Maybe Stu's the right man."

"I can't deal with someone so aggressive. He's taking anger-management therapy, for Chrissake. Plus he's like, ultrapossessive, you know. He'd probably make me start wearing burqas."

"Now that'd be a shame."

_Is that an innuendo?_

"Besides... it'd hurt Brent."

His eyebrows shot up. "Why, that's a surprise, Scarlett. I never pegged you as the considerate ty- Ouch! Hold your fire, woman."

"Gawd, you talk like a geek."

"I am a geek."

_No, you're not. You're my Adonis. _

"So you want me to talk to Stuart. Tell him to lay off a bit. Will that do?"

"Brilliant. I knew I could count on you, Ash." Peck-on-the-cheek. Gratitude kiss, maybe, but it was still a kiss. Gawd, _she _was such a geek.

**000**

"Could you do me a favor, Scarlett?"

"Ooooh... tit for tat? You name it, baby."

"Melly's moving to New York."

"_Melly_."

"We're cousins. I'm allowed to call her that."

"Yeah, Sue told me about the Hamiltons."

"She's very shy, you know, very soft and... bashful..._" Ratlike. _"She'll have trouble adjusting. Making friends. Hard, moving in your senior year." Emphatic pause. "Will you look out for her, for me? Introduce her to people, take her around, make sure she isn't bullied or-"

"You mean, mother her?"

"How I love your bluntness. Yes, mother her, mollycoddle her."

"Are you asking me because you think it's your duty to look after her just because she's your cousin?"

"You could say that."

"Or because you like her?" _Please God, no, dear God, no. _

"You could say that too." _Wtf? _

"Bastard. Aggravating bastard."

"Someone's been reading the SAT vocab list. So... will you?"

"I'll think about it."

He leaned forward and pecked her cheek. "Brilliant," he cooed, mimicking her voice. "I knew I could count on you... Scar."

**A/N: Long chapter! Blame all the dialogue. "A date with Rosie Palms" is actually an euphemism for male masturbation :D**


	4. Obsidian Secret

Polo. The sport of kings.

They play by night, the ball brightly glowing, the manicured lawns Dior-scented even at midnight. Versace beauties and their Armani escorts.

Black silk, slit to the navel. Black hair, threaded with gold.

"_Captain _Butler," she says, "You've led your team to victory. Magnificent."

Red lips. Red nails. He takes her hand. "A fair compliment from a fair lady." Synthetic chivalry. He kisses her hand. "M'lady." She giggles. Even sixteen-year-old sceptics are romantic.

Charles Hamilton, certainly, has never encountered a more romantic picture.


	5. Harbor Blue

Most commonly encountered wet dream at the Royceston Yoxahll Academy? A Cathleen Calvert Scarlett O'Hara sandwich. Head Cheerleader and Captain of the Dance Team. Sunkissed Californian-beach bombshell and magnolia-white Southern sex goddess. Yum.

Five-feet-nine-inches of Palau-beach-tanned skin are stretched on Scarlett's windowsill. Very few of those inches are modestly tucked under a white string-bikini.

_You'd think it was still June, _run Scarlett's thoughts scathingly. _Not late August._ Scarlett is a _lady_, and Ellen has never let her forget that. Leave the trashiness to "fellatio-maestros" raised by Redneck stepmothers. She rustles her papers officiously. "We're supposed to be planning for school."

"Awww, honey, it's time you got laid." She rolls over, pillowing her head on her luxuriant blond curls. "Carreen's getting real pretty, isn't she? Freshman this year, right? Tell her to try out for cheerleading."

"Carreen's too shy," Scarlett says automatically. _Suellen's a brat. Carreen's too young. Suellen's the ugliest bitch I ever saw. Carreen's a shy little crybaby. _She's been reciting these excuses for her sisters for years, thrusting herself into the limelight, tucking them behind the curtains all their lives. _Where they belong._ "She's more of a Chess Club kind of girl."

Cath smirks. "Really? Not from the way she was giving Brent those come-hither looks yesterday. She's picked up a _lot _from you, seems like it."

"Besides," Scarlett says. "Even if she was our type - which she isn't - I still wouldn't let her try out for cheerleading. I'm Captain of the Dance Team. Her place is with me."

Cath raises a pencilled eyebrow. "You wouldn't let her? Honey, I hate to break it to you but-"

"Oh looooook, isn't that Stu? And Brent?"

Cathleen pounces up and her boobs bounce. "Better catch them before Carreen's one-woman welcoming committee warms up. Toodles, honey!"

Scarlett shakes her head slowly. Cath never took much interest in the administrative side of being a Queen Bee. She was more into the Extracurriculars Section. Well, that suited Scarlett just fine. She scanned the list of names - all the 'worthy' sophomores, juniors and seniors at the Academy. A tick here - Fanny Elsing, freshman, megababe. A cross there - Hetty Tarleton, senior, megabitch.

Melanie Hamilton.

An emphatic cross. The paper tore.


	6. Palace Purple

New York.

Back to the Park Avenue and Madison. The Bronx and Staten Island. Coney and Baloney. Back to the city lights.

Pa's hosting a 'little dinner party' to celebrate the Wilkes-Hamilton merger. At the Hakubai. To be sure, low-fat sukiyaki was not the thing for a red-blooded Irish male, no siree, but Ellen was fond of Japanese food.

"Prissying up for Ashley?"

It's Suellen in the doorway, a walking, salami-complexioned cliche in a Valentino LBD. Diamond-drops dangling from her ears.

"Sue, don't be mean..."

Carreen looks washed-out. Brent's not coming and she hasn't bothered to dress up. The little fool. There's more than one fish in the sea and a girl's mission in life is to tangle as many of them in her net as she can.

"Actually, I was looking forward to hooking Mr Kennedy tonight." Scarlett saunters out of her walk-in closet, fastening pear-shaped yellow-topaz earrings. A one-shouldered Halston Heritage sheathdress tonight. In shocking purple.

_"Blacks and reds, you get 'em a dime a dozen. Metallics, leopard-prints, crocodile-skin, they come and go every season." The bartender leaned forward. "But you know when I really look up and notice? It's when a girl wears a color like electric purple." _

"Better keep your eyes on your pedophile tonight, sister."

**000**

Charles draws out a chair for her, gawking like a guppy. "You look fantastic, Scarlett."

She doesn't need a highschool boy to tell her that. Tonight, she's made even Mr Butler's head turn. But she remembers her own advice and simpers, "Thank you." _There's more than one fish in the sea and a girl's mission in life is to tangle as many of them in her net as she can._

"Fantastic," Little Miss Perfect, Melanie Hamilton, agrees demurely. Ashley and she share a secret little smile. A couple smile. _What does he see in that cold fish?_

Honey glowers as she showers attention on Charlie_, _Suellen turns green when her big sister pouts her pretty, pink lips at Frank Kennedy_. _And Ashley and Rhett (though she isn't looking at him) both smile indulgently at her antics.

"The Otoris and their dastardly practices will beggar us all-" Gerald explodes.

"Pa _will _discuss business at the dinner," Suellen tells Honey apologetically. What's she apologizing for, Scarlett thinks, her temper rising. Just because he's not some prissy-wishy dollface like Mr Wilkes who's too fine to talk plain, good business at dinner? You keep a civil tongue in your head, Miss Sue, and remember who's funding your Platinum American Express Card. It's certainly not Ellen with her Robillard airs and dainty vapourings.

Charlie, who fancies himself quite the psychological profiler, observes Rhett Butler. "Handsome devil, isn't he?" he murmurs. "You'd think him one of the Borgias."

Scarlett can't remember anyone in Who's Who or the Social Registrar or the Peerage, by that. "Who are they?" she asks swiftly. "I don't know any family by that name."

Charlie blushes for her as India's cool voice cuts through the tinkling of spoons and soft conversation. "The Borgias, my dear, were Italians." India Wilkes, twenty-one years old, doing her undergrad at Wharton. Pedophile - she and Stuart had dated during his freshman year, and part of his sophomore year. That is - before Scarlett took matters into her own hands.

Melanie's frowning at India, shaking her head slowly. Scarlett steals the moment to bestow her prettiest smile on Ashley, but for some reason he isn't looking at her. He's looking at Charlie and there's pity in his glance.

**A/N: The chapters are named after the wall paint colours at icidulux (a website). They're the colors of the dress Scarlett is wearing in each chapter.**


	7. Radical Raspberry

_AP Calculus Pop Test:_

_Integrate the following equations with respect to x:  
_

_7. cosec x...  
_

Who'd have thought a snooty Upper East Side prep school could churn out such tricky questions? He couldn't get past the seventh question. His eyes strayed to his partner, up a pair of long, lean, luscious legs (he's always been a fan of alliteration) and the (extremely abbreviated) tartan school-skirt. He'd been amazingly lucky to bag a seat next to Scarlett, though he'd done a double take on seeing her in his AP Calculus class.

Pretty little things and rock-hard equations did not match. The rest of the class - respectably bespectacled nerds - were scribbling tenaciously away but she was reapplying her lipgloss. Poor darling, she probably hadn't been able to do a single one. But Charles was a Hamilton and Hamiltons were gentlemen and gentlemen were chivalrious to fair ladies. He'd help and his reward would be...

"Pssht!"

As she turned, he shoved his half-finished paper at her, expecting her lips to part in a grateful smile and-

"Mr Hamilton!"

The teacher pounced. Charles winced. Scarlett sighed gustily.

"Were you attempting to copy from Miss O'Hara? Seduced by her reputation, eh?"

Charles was appalled and almost said so.

"Mr Keynes? I don't think it was like that at all. I think _Mr Hamilton _was uh, sort of seduced by my other reputation." She smiled sweetly, crossing and uncrossing her legs for the benefit of the rest of the class. Naturally, they'd shamelessly eavesdropping.

"Miss O'Hara. Don't be pert." Pert? _Pert? _Even Aunt Pitty didn't use the word 'pert'!

"I think he felt like playing knight-in-shining-armor to my damsel-in-distress," she said lightly. "Because _everyone _knows that hot chicks and Calculus don't go together." Someone gave a muted cheer. Hetty Tarleton threw Scarlett a dirty look.

She pushed back her chair roughly and stood up. "I'm done, Mr Keynes."

**000**

Melanie was an anomaly among Scarlett's toned-and-tanned posse. She wasn't swinging a Fendi baguette or tottering in Louboutins. She was the soul of the Brazilian-bikini-waxes-are-immoral tribe. She looked like her boobs would sag when she was forty because Botox was immoral too.

Ashley had asked her to look out for Miss Pink-Arse. And so she had - she'd even endured Miss Knee-Length-Skirt's presence at _her _table (it helped that Ashley had tagged along too, instead of sitting with the computer nerds like he sometimes did). But it was Sugar Tits who'd taken it upon herself to stalk Scarlett and her minions to _Verdant_, their favourite cafe, after school.

Pur-lease. How desperate could you get?

"Ash told me about what Charlie did in your AP Calculus class," Melanie said, bug-eyed with distress. _Ash? _"And I sent him packing with a big flea in his ear, let me tell you!"

_Flea? Flea?_

Melanie squeezed Scarlett's arm - a very Southern-gal thing to do. 

_God, if I hadn't taken her under my wing she'd probably be crying out her poor little eyes in bed right now, wondering why New Yorkers are so meaaaaaaaan. _

"Do forgive him - for my sake, darling."

Hot words rose to Scarlett's lips but she choked them back down and smiled sweetly. Saccharinely. This was a game, she reminded herself, all a game. She'd get back. She always did.

But for now, there remained Ashley's promise.

"Of course. _Darling_."

**000  
**

**Pop Test Results:**

**1. Nikhil Khoda - 9/10  
**

**2. Scarlett O'Hara - 8/10**

**3. Ashley Wilkes - 8/10  
**

**...**

**...**

**...**

**9. Charles Hamilton - 4/10**

**A/N: I know the chapters have started getting longer... if you guys don't mind, I'll keep them around this length. It moves the story along faster, plus I'm really starting to enjoy writing this. Btw, I'm planning a story based on the placage system of New Orleans in 1803. Would any of you be interested in reading it?**


	8. Harlequin Green

"You wanna check out my new recruits?"

Scarlett, absorbed in her cheesburger (Ellen would die of horror on the spot. Calories! Trans-fats! More calories!) only grunted. "Why would I be interested in a few zitty freshmen you've roped in for cheerleading practice, Cathy? The pick of the crop always joins the dance team." Well perhaps not the _pick _of the crop, but once Scarlett was done whipping them into shape, they were. They had to be.

"Scaaaaaaaarleeeeeett, don't be so meaaaaaaaaaaaan."

"Don't play with your tits at the table, Cathleen. There's no need for that - I'll check the list if you really want me to."

_Betsy Tarleton... Stu's cousin, she'll fit their busty-redhead quota._

_Shiloh Whiting... no surprises there, her mother's a senator..._

_Carreen O'Hara._

Cathleen wore a creamy, self-satisfied smile.

"Carreen was serious about trying?" Scarlett said, careful to keep her voice neutral. It didn't work.

"Why yes, darling, didn't you know?" _Darling again! Melanie's converted the whole school into a lump of ugh, waist-squeezing, arm-grabbing, sugar-slopping darling-callers! _"She put up a _splendid _performance, but then of course she's your sister... graceful, beautiful... But I must say that I was surprised to see her, I wondered why she wasn't auditioning for the dance team but she said something about you minding - oh dear, you don't mind that I signed her up, do you? Did you have something else in mind? She is your little sister after all..."

"She's more than just Scarlett O'Hara's little sister." _So she thinks! _

"I'd be simply _crushed _if you didn't approve. Oh dear, say that it isn't so!"

"Lay off the italics, Cathleen."

Thus bidden, Cathleen laid off on the italics. With disastrous results. "Oh, sugarbaby, I hope I didn't hurt your feelings! Sweetie, pleasepleaseplease tell me everything's OK because I'd never, no never, want for anything to come between us and..."

"Uh, Cathy? Shouldn't we be getting ready for the Fontaines' party now?"

Thank God Cathleen had a one-track mind. The words 'party', 'boys' and 'shopping' were enough to set her off. She dropped the issue of your-sister-is-mine at once and pounced on the issue of clothes. Because, _of course, _clothes were the most important thing in the world. Right after boys.

**000**

Tony Fontaine was a senior, but his brothers, Joe and Alex, were drool-worthy college boys. Columbia and NYU respectively. Their parents were out and their brownstone was oh, so totally in.

Scarlett had settled for a cropped halterneck, kitschy newspaper-print hotpants and sky-high platform heels. She'd tied her long hair into a high ponytail. She'd applied traffic-signal-red lipstick and harlequin-green mascara.

She looked like a hooker. She loved it.

Ellen was ministering to the poor and needy in Somalia. She was a jetsetting aristocratic philanthropic socialite, the human face of O'Hara Industries Ltd and a loving-wife-and-mother. Whether it was sidestepping Nigeria landmines in organic, jute sandals or sashaying down the ramp for a Charity Ball in Ferragamos, Ellen O'Hara managed to pull off her role-juggling with panache. Well, that was what _The Times_ had said. At home, it was a little different...

But when Ellen wasn't home, Mammy, the housekeeper, was mistress. And Mammy would never let her lamb leave for a party without showing off her outfit.

Mammy was in the kitchen, concoting a celery-and-water salad (she'd read that eating celery gave you negative calories) for Carreen. Scarlett whistled to catch Mammy's attention and when it was caught, she unbuttoned her ankle-length coat and let it fall down. Mammy nodded, with grim approval. "Beautiful."

"Beautiful?" Carreen coughed delicately. "You're lucky Mother isn't home, Scarlett."

Mammy turned a smouldering eye on her. "Now you be careful of what you say, Miss Carreen. If you had a figure like a Miss Scarlett's then you wouldn't be so quick to let your tongue scamper away with you but as you haven't-" she thumped a plate of salad in front of the girl. "You going to the Fontaines, honey?" When Scarlett nodded, she added cunningly, "All alone? Ain't Miss Cathleen or Mr Brent coming for you?"

"I asked Cathleen and Brent to come pick me up, and Laetitia Munro's stopping by at my place so we can all go together. She's new on the Dance Team and I thought I'd show her ropes a little... a Fontaine party is the best place to start." She turned to Carreen. "I thought Cathleen would ask you since you're one of her new, uh what'd she call them? Oh yes, _recruits_. That's why I asked Brent to come. I know you're sweet on him."

On cue, she heard Pork (Peter was his really name), the butler saying, "This way, Miss Munro, may I take your coat?"

Scarlett stuck her head out of the kitchen and hollered loud enough for even Suellen upstairs to hear (Suellen hadn't been invited to a single party in her highschool life, Scarlett had seen to that), "I'm here, Letty!"

Letty had taken hero-worship to unprecedented levels. She looked like Scarlett's clone. Speculation was rife that she'd turned to plastic surgery.

But she looked yummy enough to lick up with a spoon. Her clothes followed The Rule of Essential S's - small, shiny, skintight. In addition, hers were silver, sequinned and looked like they'd been made of snakeskin. It was a little desperate, but very, very noticeable. Good. Noticeable was what freshmen needed to aim for if they wanted to make something out of their social lives.

Carreen, in sweats, took one look at this Maxim-esque vision and said snarkily, "Contacts?" Her own eyes were a wholesome Irish blue, compared to the (sexy) boa-constrictor green of Letty's.

Scarlett rolled her eyes and said, "Lets go, Letty." She draped her arm around Letty's bare shoulders (something she'd never done with her own sisters) and buttoned up her coat. "We've got a long night in front of us."

**000**

The Fontaines' brownstone was bursting to the seams with lights, colors, alcohol and seminude chicks. Letty, giggling raucously, let Brent steer her inside, one hand placed territorially on her derriere. Scarlett smiled smugly as she linked arms with Cathleen. Tony was playing host and Joe and Alex were playing tonsil hockey. Scarlett and Cathleen smothered him in a hug - the trademark Calvert-O'Hara sandwich, the boy looked thrilled - and chorused the familiar, "Looks like its gonna be a great party, baby!"

Then they separated - Cathleen to look for drinks, Scarlett to look for the dance floor.

"Baby!"

Before she knew it, she'd received two hearty, smacking kisses on the lips and had been swung off her feet. Scarlett opened her mouth to let forth a stinging retort (possibly followed by a stinging slap) but then her eyes met Raif Calvert's dancing black ones.

_Screw Cath. Why didn't she tell me he'd be here? I wouldn't have come if I'd known._

He was eying her up and down, like she was a prime piece of meat. She crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly feeling very exposed. She felt just like she had on that day when she was thirteen and he'd taken her up to his room and...

He was saying something. She forced herself to smile - a wide, bright, glittering smile like the ones she used to offer him when she was the kid with the biggest rack in the eighth grade and he was the sexy highschool senior. He still was... the Calverts had sexy in their blood.

"You'll let me have a dance, Scarlett? Just for old times' sake?"

She let him wind his arm around her bare stomach, let him squeeze her ass because she was Scarlett O'Hara, the belle, the bitch - _the bimbo _- and she ought to be used to this. She wrapped her arms around his neck, because he expected it, and revolved slowly on the spot, her body pressed to his and the thunderous music and laughter pounding in her ears.

Were they laughing at her?

**000**

_"Raif Calvert asked you over?" Randa Tarleton's eyes widened. "No way. No way. I don't believe you."_

_Scarlett waggled her eyebrows. "Believe what you want to, Randy-Pandy. But when I-"_

_"He's too old for you," Randa said dismissively. _

_Scarlett only smiled. "He asked me over. That's all that matter."_

_By the next period, it was all over the school - Raiford Calvert had asked Scarlett O'Hara 'over'. Perhaps it wasn't the same as asking her 'out', but still... He was seventeen. She was thirteen.  
_


	9. Discreet Charm

The Interstate Jefferson Math Tournament - a tumblerfull of Asians, a sprinkling of Caucasians. Laptops balanced on laps, spectacles perched on quivering noses, freckles and acne generously represented, ironed khakis and staid-hued polo shirts. The usual suspects.

Rhett Butler tried to remind himself why he had attended. He was to fulfil the honorary role of prize-distributor to these ivory-tower highschoolers. Their IQs might be (and probably were) above 160, but they were fools, all of them. He'd like to see little Miss Fruitfly-Cloner or young Master Maths-Olympiad building a business empire by hook and crook.

_But it looks _nice_, dear, _Mother had said in her sweet, coaxing voice. _It'll be pleasant to see your name in the papers for something er, rather proper, for once - Mr Rhett Butler awarding the prizes to so-and-so for the Interstate Jefferson Math Tournament. And a nice little photograph - you do photograph well, dear. It'll be charming, it'll do wonders for your reputation._

But then he noticed her.

"Miss O'Hara. A pleasure to see you once again."

She wore no makeup, her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, emphasizing the squareness of her jaw, her florid Irish features and the darkness of her brows against her disconcertingly pale skin. Without her charm, her feminine tricks of allure, she wasn't in the least bit pretty.

With her resolute eyes and the determined set of that unsculpted chin, she was beautiful.

She had a catlike smile. A dueller's smile above a shining rapier blade or a marksman's smile over a loaded pistol. "Surely you won't pretend that you were not astonished to see me, Mr Butler."

"If it would please you to have me pretend, I would do so. I will commence. Miss O'Hara, you are as a hothouse flower among these er, shrubs, a dove amongst ravens-"

"Now Mr Butler, really-"

"You would not have me compose a paean to your pulchritude? Or would it please you better to have me single out those singularly uncomely damsels who accompany you, and contrast their lack of charms with your superfluity?"

"You are making fun of me," she said petulantly. "Really, you are _quite _the rudest man I have ever met." She pouted prettily and suddenly she was lovely once again, heartstoppingly lovely - eyelashes fluttering, dimples dancing, all flags flying and guns blazing. He heard a few worshipful sighs from behind him.

He smiled. "You are getting late, Miss O'Hara. Your devotees will be heartbroken."

With a sigh, she shifted her laptop bag from one shoulder to the other, and strode down the aisle. Strode - he had only ever seen her saunter, swaying her hips as she walked.

But perhaps, he reflected, as he watched her suddenly unremarkable figure disappear into the throng, some things were too important to be taken as lightly as she did coquetting.

Maths.

The girl had spunk.

**000**

Ashley gave her shoulders a friendly squeeze. "We won," he repeated happily and inanely for the fifteen-thousandth time. The tournament had ended half and hour before and they were celebrating in the clean, mindless anonymity of a pizza parlor. It was heaven after the stress of the last three hours. Scarlett felt a migraine coming on. At the moment, she was prepared to never, never look at an equation again. That was how drained she felt.

Scarlett punched him, though she was secretly delighted that he'd touched her. Hah! Take that Melanie Mealy-Mouthed Hamilton! "Try to sound more sophisticated, douchebag."

"Just a little something for our transcripts," Nikhil said happily.

Scarlett chortled. "Four years of bagging major mathematics prizes and you still want more 'little somethings'? Grow up, kid!"

"It never hurts," Nikhil maintained primly. "After all, you're targeting MIT, Scarlett..."

Scarlett giggled. "Don't let my friends know that. They think my sole ambition in life is to be a Victoria's Secret Angel."

Ashley was leaning forwards on his elbows, looking at her. "Then why are they your friends, Scarlett?"

_Why indeed._

"Because they're hot," she replied airily, unthinkingly. "Now eat the rest of your pizza like a good little boy or Scarlett O'Hara'll have to spank you. Oh wait - that wouldn't be a punishment would it?"

"No," Ashley replied dryly, imitating Stuart. "It'd be a wet dream come true."

**A/N: Review replies:**

** (): Nigeria acceded to the Mine Ban Treaty on 27 September 2001 and it entered into force on 1 March 2002. It has been more active regionally and internationally on the issue since that time. Nigeria submitted its initial Article 7 report almost two years late, on 22 June 2004. It has not yet adopted any legal national implementation measures. After initially indicating it had no antipersonnel mines, even for training purposes, Nigeria declared a stock of 3,364 mines, all of which will be retained. A massive explosion at an ammunition transit depot in Lagos in January 2002 created a significant UXO problem.**

**Since I haven't mentioned the date in which this piece is set, I think I'm justified in using the phrase 'Nigerian landmines'. Scarlett never ran circles around men? Fascinating. What about Ashley? Frank? The Tarleton twins, when she was fourteen? Charlie? 'Setting your cap for a man', as Scarlett was wont to do, can be called 'running circles around men'. And how exactly is the chapter 'disturbing'? **


	10. Teal Appeal

"2100." Her voice is flat. "550 on Critical Reading. 50 points up."

"800 on Math," he reminds her. "Quick though your mind is, it doesn't seem to be made for analysis."

Taut smile from unvarnished lips. Even without makeup, she is easily the most beautiful woman he's ever seen. "Grandmother will be pleased. SAT scores aren't applicable when you're majoring in husband-catching."

"Don't say that. Hey, listen - if you want I'll tutor you for December."

Her eyes light up. Once again he wonders what she sees in him. A flash of instinct tells him _nothing. She only thinks she sees something. And God knows her mind isn't made for analysis. _

_"_I'd _love _that," she says, putting a whole new world of emphasis on the word.

**000**

They're all pearls-and-argyle preps, backed by Daddy's millions and Mommy's Mayflower lineage.

Charles, proudly, punctiliously - "I intend to study law at Harvard. Naturally, I'm to take on after Uncle Henry retires."

Man-crazy Honey and Cathleen chrous together - "That sounds too highbrow for me!" They belong to the Solange Robillard school of thought.

Melanie, sweet, idealistic, an heiress who doesn't have to think about earning a salary - "I've always fancied studying Comparative Literature. Shakespeare-" a merry romp through immortal sonnets.

Ashley - "Father sent India to Wharton. He'd be pleased if I attended Yale."

The Tarleton twins will go wherever they're sent. They'll manage to get themselves expelled with the easy grace they devote to all their activities - dancing, riding, lovemaking.

"How come you've never modeled seriously, Scarlett?" Melanie asks shyly. "Oh I know, at school... but you're so beautiful, you could take it up professionally."

_You think I'm a bimbo? _Terse - "Static."

Honey's laughter tinkles. "A more dynamic medium would suit Scarlett's talents better. Like pornography."

She has very dynamic eyes. She fixes them on Charles and smiles.

_Three birds. One stone._

Chain reaction.

**000**

"Charlie, would you mind coaching me for my SATs?"**  
**


	11. Powder Pink

"I thought you were setting your cap for the Wilkes boy."

"I'm not setting my cap for anyone, Grandmere."

Well into her nineties, Solange Robillard is still petals-and-cream on the outside and all vinegar inside. She gives a rasping laugh, as harsh as nails on a board - she has never learned to laugh with someone, only at them and it shows. "No," she says approvingly. "And I'm glad of it. Play with that moony Hamilton as long as it amuses you. Don't fall in love with a man you can't have, like your mother did."

That catches her by surprise, just as her grandmother had planned she suspects. _Mother? In love? _"I'm not even going to ask," Scarlett says petulantly.

"What a clever puss you're turning into," the old witch cackles. "Now be a good girl and bring me my portrait."

_Why don't you do it yourself?_ Scarlett thinks but raised by her mother to be respectful towards her elders, she takes down the black-and-white photograph from its pride of place opposite the antique silver mirror. Its one of Solange's daily rituals, admiring her fifteen-year-old self and reminiscing to whoever will listen. Usually its one of the unlucky Hispanic maids but today she's lucky to have latched on to her favorite granddaughter.

"Caused quite a scandal in the day, it did," she says fondly, running her fingers over the canvas. As though touching it, talking about it will bring it back. The downcast eyes, starred with dark lashes, the satiny pale cheeks and lips parted slightly like a virgin in ecstasy. The slender legs spread wide apart, the sharpness of her hips and collarbones and the downy softness of her breasts and stomach. Half-woman, half-child, a gamine, exploited ingénue she is nude except for the string of black pearls wound like a slave's collar at her throat.

"I _know_, Grandmere," Scarlett said, annoyed. "You've only told me a hundred times."

"Monsieur Dampierre, was driven mad by lust when he saw it," she says, supremely indifferent to her suffering granddaughter. "He was just the kind of man I'd always dreamed of marrying. Fabulously wealthy. Distinguished. Powerful. Old. Why I was younger than two of his granddaughters, just imagine that! Lusty as a stallion for all that. He managed to make me _enceinte _with your Aunt Pauline - and more's the pity for she looks just like him - and left me a widow in my twenties, almost as luscious and certainly much better provided for than he'd left me."

_Your mother sold you to him, _Scarlett thinks. _Just like you sold mother. I'm different, I'd never sell myself for money. I love Ashley..._

"Don't marry for love," Solange warns her sharply. "I married my third husband, your Grandpere Robillard for love and what did I get out of it but your mother? She's a beauty, I'll give her that, but was she worth the heartache?"

"I'm not marrying anyone just now," Scarlett says, outwardly nonchalant. _I wouldn't ever dream of marrying anyone but Ashley. I'm going to go to MIT, I'm not going to sell my body for money. _

"And that Hamilton boy's for revenge, I suppose. One of your little games." Solange waves her hand, dismissing Scarlett. She doesn't speak until Scarlett's at the door. "We're cut from the same cloth, child. Adventuresses. Schemers. Heartbreakers. _Whores_. No matter what you tell yourself."

* * *

She has it all worked out. She'll officially upgrade Charlie Hamilton to 'boyfriend' - she winces as thinks of him slobbering over her like a St. Bernard puppy but sacrifices must be made in the name of love - and then Ashley'll realize how much he loves her when she's no longer free. _Charlie's different from the guys I used to date, more like Ashley. That'll give him hope. _

She'll let him stew for a week and then when he's almost given up hope, she'll tell him _he's_ the only one she's always wanted. She shivers as she thinks of the look on his face, his grey eyes shining like stars, the strength of his arms as they wrap themselves snugly around her waist...

She's delving into Fifty Shades of Grey territory here.

The problem is, Charlie doesn't _know _he's her boyfriend yet.

"The C-Calverts' party?" Charles' stutter is not adorable. "I'm sorry Scarlett, I think I'll be busy that night..."

_Jerking off to cheerleader porn and pretending its me sucking your cock? _"Oh _do _come," she pleads, widening her eyes like a baby. "All these parties are the same-" _not that you'd know, you've never been to a party in her life_ "- and I'm always _so _bored at them but I have to go. Social obligations, you know. I was looking forward to having a _real_ friend at one, really having fun you know? We could uh talk about that dude whose theories Ashley was talking about. Uh, Hegel?"

"B-but you have so many friends," he almost pleads. "You're-you're Scarlett O'Hara! Everyone wants to be _your _friend."

She sighs softly. "And I only want one person to be my friend." She picks up his hand and holds it tenderly to her heart, rubbing it ever-so-lightly against her boobs. She's glad they're in her room (he's tutoring her for her SATs) so no one can see the lengths she's going to. _What I do for love. _"Please, Charlie? For me?"

Her eyes undo him.

* * *

Ellen O'Hara snaps on the delicate black pearls around her daughter's throat. "You look lovely," she says in her customary softly-modulated yet perfectly emotionless voice. "Like a lady."

Scarlett _feels_ like a lady, in her lacy Alberta Ferretti dress. She twirls experimentally, the knee-length skirts flaring softly around her in a powder-pink bubble. She feels like her mother's daughter.

On impulse she hugs her mother, longing for yet awkward with the intimacy. "I wish I looked as lovely as you," she says honestly. "You and Uncle Philippe must have had so much fun in Palau. But its so good to have you back home again."

"And I'm glad to be home with my girls." But there is no joy in her voice as she says this, just the same gracious indifference as ever.

"Have you ever been in love, mother?" She blurts out the question before thinking, astonishing even herself.

Ellen is about to say something but right on cue, Scarlett's sisters _have _to interrupt. Carreen pokes her head through the door and even though she's clearly unwanted, swans in boldly when she sees their mother. Scarlett's room is sacrosanct but Carreen's clearly forgotten her place in the heady rush of a new cheerleader's arrogance. She'll have to put down. Culled.

"How much my baby's grown," Ellen says, smiling and kissing Carreen's cheeks. "You're quite as much a lady as your big sister now."

Carreen looks cocky in a sunflower-yellow tankdress with a black ikkat print, colorful wooden bangles stacked on her skinny arms.

"Yes," Scarlett agrees, smiling sweetly for their mother's benefit. "Like a lollipop about to be sucked. I hope no one spits you out in disgust, baby."

"Scarlett," Ellen says reprovingly.

"Oh I'm sorry, mother," Scarlett says. "Its just that I don't think Carreen has anything ladylike on her mind tonight. Hoping to get Brent drunk aren't you? Praying that he might get a little... frisky once he's got his beer goggles on and realizes that you're a big girl at your first grown-up party tonight."

"With a chaperone as diligent as you, Scarlett, I'm sure everything will be fine," Ellen says smoothly while Carreen blushes like a tomato. "Have a good time tonight, girls."

Scarlett stalks past Carreen, treading on her foot on purpose. Before Carreen can cry out, Scarlett whirls around and whispers in her ear, "That'd be a clever plan, _baby_ but for one thing. Fucking's not the same as making love."

"You'd know all about that," Carreen hisses back. "Brent's different. _I'm_ different."

Scarlett laughs bitterly. "No you're not. You're walking down the same road as me but don't say I didn't warn you."

_They have the house all to themselves. Mr and Mrs Calvert are in China, Cade is watching the game with the Tarletons and Cathleen is showing off her newest boyfriend to the girls. He's English and has the most delicious accent. _

_Its only Raif and Scarlett.  
_

_She's dressed carefully for today, a baby-pink ruffled miniskirt that grazes the tops of her thighs and a sheer blouse unbuttoned to offer a peek of her lacy Victoria's Secret bra.  
_

_"You look gorgeous, sweetheart. I could almost eat you up." Tenderly he brushes his hand over her cheek. "What do you want to do today?"  
_

_"Whatever you want to do," she says in a rush of adoration. She fidgets with the hem of her skirt. She is nervous and that is very rare. He picks up her hands and holds them gently.  
_

_"I want to do so many things with you, Scarlett," he says earnestly. "I don't know where to start." He thinks for a moment. "You're thirteen aren't you?"  
_

_She nods. She's in the eighth grade with his little sister and he's a senior. In high school. The girls are all crazy jealous but of course there's no body as beautiful, as mature and confident as her. He's chosen her. Vanity makes her smile.  
_

_"How charming." He bends to kiss her.  
_


End file.
